Into the Fire
by Red River
Summary: There are rumors that Lord Zhou Yu, the great strategist of the Wu Empire and Sun Quan’s most trusted retainer, is losing his mind. Set after Sun Ce's death, implied ZYxSC.


A/N: Now that _Secession_'s over, I decided to post this one-shot. It's set somewhere in the ten years between Sun Ce's death and Zhou Yu's, and just a sort of description of what it might have been like for Zhou Yu during that time. Implied ZYxSC, obviously. The song is "Into the Fire" by Thirteen Senses, which I used because even though the lyrics are a little weird, the song itself works very well.

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**Into the Fire**

There are rumors that Lord Zhou Yu, the great strategist of the Wu Empire and Sun Quan's most trusted retainer, is losing his mind. The servants say he mutters to himself as he moves between the rooms of his quarters, as he stands for robe fitting and holds audience with the young master of Wu. They say they can see his thin lips moving across inaudible words, turning them over on his tongue but never speaking them aloud – and when Sun Quan summons his opinion, the words he speaks are different than the ones they see lingering in his mouth.

_Come on, come on_

_Put your hands into the fire_

_Explain, explain_

_As I turn and meet the power_

The children say he is haunted by a ghost – or cursed by one, perhaps. They say it's the product of his hatred for Zhuge Liang, the jealousy that drives him slowly mad and dulls his obsidian eyes in the handsome lines of his battle-weary face. They say that they can almost see the spirit wisping around him as he walks, tangling in the swinging arc of his sleeves and blocking his path so that its vaporous form breaks over his face when he moves through it.

From the garden and the hallways they call to him, warning him of the spirit in his way, but Lord Zhou Yu never seems to hear them, continuing his business without a backward glance. The children say the spirit has made him go deaf, and that each time he touches it, he loses a part of his soul.

_This time, this time_

_Turning white and senses dying_

_Pull up, pull up_

_From one extreme to another_

His wife is quiet about it, when asked. Her sister sets the needlework softly into her lap and gathers her cooing daughter closer, holding the little girl in the protective ward of her arms. Xiao Qiao considers in silence as she chews at the end of her painted nails. At last the young woman will shrug and brush her eldest son's hair out of his bright eyes, smiling at the boy who grips her flowing skirt.

"He has a lot on his mind," she will say, rethreading her needle where the string broke. "He gives all that he has to Wu. It is his greatest love." Something will flash through her eyes like a lightning strike, but it will be too quick to catch, too quick to ascertain exactly what she means by her husband's affection for the empire of the south.

_From the summer to the spring_

_From the mountain to the air_

Even those who often take any opportunity to speak will soften when questioned, each of Wu's strongest generals letting their weapons fall back to their sides and their stances break on the practice field. Taishi Ci runs a hand through his hair and tosses his head as though chasing a thought away, and will not answer with anything but the grim line of his jaw. Lu Meng crosses his arms over his chest, glaring into the patchy grass beneath his leather boots.

"He's always been that way," the gruff warrior replies, raising his glaive anew and stabbing through a straw target as though his motions can make the words reality. Lu Xun's eyes have found the sky and gotten lost in its cerulean folds, and even Ling Tong is quiet, tightening the ribbon in his hair before he waves the questions away.

"It's none of our business," the young man answers, diving at Gan Ning again and interrupting the interrogation with the clash of weapons. Gan Ning's brow will furrow as he looks between his comrades, but he will not answer either, preoccupied with Ling Tong's charge and the sounds of spring around him.

Lord Zhou Yu does not practice here anymore – it has been a long time since sparring took him beyond the confines of his office.

_From Samaritan to sin_

_And it's waiting on the edge_

The rumors bring a hand to Sun Quan's lips, darkening his clear blue eyes and tightening his sister's grip on his shoulder. The young Lord of Wu rubs at the headache behind his temples and drums his fingers on the armrest, the fur of his ample robes disguising the uncertainty in his features.

"Master Zhou Yu is… an asset to my empire. I am eternally grateful for his assistance." Sun Quan lowers his chin to hide his eyes, and Shang Xiang massages his neck, her cheerful smile a little forced at the edges.

"Perhaps he's only tired. He has been working late recently." The lightness of her tone does not reach her eyes, sparkling hazel that seem shadowed as she looks up from her brother's bowed head. "Conquest is hard on all of us."

She says nothing more, but there are words waiting at the edge of her tightly sealed lips, as unintelligible as the murmurs that occupy Lord Zhou Yu as he wanders the halls of Wu's great capital, his fingers twitching into empty fists.

_Come on, come on_

_Put your hands into the fire_

_Explain, explain_

_As I turn and meet the power_

No one has ever asked Lord Zhou Yu. Most of the people in Jianye are afraid of him, and the rest do not need his answer, as familiar with his story as the man himself. No one has ever stood hidden behind the long curtains in the strategist's office, watching as he pores over his maps and documents and then stops abruptly, staring into the air just ahead of him as though receiving a vision. No one has ever asked why he replaces his ink brush on the parchment and closes his tired eyes, his mouth just barely open and his hands still as stones against the polished tabletop.

No one has ever asked to whom he speaks. If they listened, they wouldn't need to ask.

_This time, this time_

_Turning white and senses dying_

_Pull up, pull up_

_From one extreme to another_

"Ce…"

Zhou Yu closes his eyes again, and in the darkness of his mind he swears he can feel two hands brushing his shoulders, slipping down to wrap around his forearms. In the silence of his quarters, he swears he can feel that familiar breath against his ear, hear that lost voice whispering to him in the shadows of his empty mind. When he holds perfectly still, he can feel a weight pressing into him from behind, as though another body were leaning against his, its head pillowed on the flat of his upper back and both arms curled around his waist.

It is only through his great discipline that Zhou Yu refrains from reaching up to trace those unseen fingers with his own, as he tried the first time – they vanish as soon as he moves, startled by his touch and the urgency in his hands.

_From the summer to the spring_

_From the mountain to the air_

No one has ever dared to question Lord Zhou Yu when he moves slowly through the abandoned corridors, approaching the part of the palace that has been closed off to all others. The former quarters of the great Lord Sun Ce, Little Conqueror of the Wu Territory, Sun Quan's brother and the keystone of his kingdom. No one dares tell Zhou Yu that he may not enter the rooms Sun Quan refuses to use, bypassing that entire wing of his palace if he must move from one end to the other. No one tells Zhou Yu and he would likely not listen in any case, deafened by the voice of the spirit that the children see around him, leading him through the halls of Jianye.

_From Samaritan to sin_

_And it's waiting on the edge_

Zhou Yu stops when he reaches Sun Ce's old room – their old room, with everything just as it had been – and he closes the door firmly behind him, never one who appreciated an audience. He stops when he reaches the center of the room, his eyes scanning the shelves and dressers that Sun Quan cannot even bring himself to burn, despite his sister's and his mother's urgings. Zhou Yu knows it is selfish, but he prefers the room this way, exactly as they left it – it is one of the few comfortable places that remain for him in a palace that seems to grow colder with every passing year.

Slowly, the strategist closes his eyes and drops his arms to his side, waiting. He doesn't have to wait long. Within moments there is a feathery presence against his skin, an intangible form filling his arms. As long as he keeps his eyes closed, he can see Sun Ce's face just in front of his own, meet those burning amber eyes as the same warm lips brush over his again and again. As long as he is careful not to actually touch the invisible body leaning against his chest, he can fold his arms in, keeping them in a circle just wide enough that he doesn't stop the spirit from reaching up and wrapping both arms around his neck.

As long as he says nothing, he can hear that sunshine voice in the back of his mind, murmuring in his ear as the caresses move across his face and his neck and down the line of his wrist. "See me," Sun Ce is whispering. "Feel me. Hear me. I'm right here, Yu. Can't you hear me?"

_Now I'm low, I'm looking out, I'm looking in_

_Way down, the lights are dimmer_

Sometimes when sleep refuses to find him at all, Zhou Yu leaves his own bed and wanders through the halls to the forbidden wing of the palace, passing hesitant servants and the flickering torches in their dragon-headed braces. The servants ask him if he needs a guide, and where he is going, and if they should summon Lord Sun Quan from his chambers – but Zhou Yu never answers them, because he knows the way to Sun Ce's empty quarters better than any attendant and needs no light to direct his feet when he can hear that long-vanished voice calling to him.

When he reaches the abandoned room, he moves to the bed and slides his body across the stale sheets, lying on his back and staring at the shadowed ceiling. Then that wispy form settles across his, and as long as he closes his eyes he can feel both warm arms tight around his waist, the Little Conqueror's head resting on his shoulder. He keeps his hands in fists as the chestnut ponytail tickles his neck, shifting with Sun Ce as the first lord of Wu's lips find his jaw, tan fingers that have long since lost their color moving through the strands of his hair.

"Feel me," Sun Ce is whispering, and Zhou Yu holds his breath so that the voice echoing in his ears is perfectly clear. "I'm right here, Yu. Can't you feel me? Can't you hear me? I'm right here."

_Now I'm low, I'm looking out, I'm looking in_

_Way down, the lights are dimmer_

He can never get enough of that voice, but it torments him at the same time, so quiet in his ears as Sun Ce pushes himself up and stares down into his tightly closed eyes, his body soft against his swordsman's. "See me, Yu. Can't you see me? I'm right here. Can't you feel me? Can't you hear me?"

Eventually Zhou Yu can hold his tongue no more, and his arms wrap around the form that lies against him, fingers digging into the invisible silk. "Yes, Ce," he whispers, letting his obsidian eyes come open to face the darkness. "I can hear you."

Zhou Yu is never sure whether his loss of control is worth the price he pays. As soon as he speaks, as soon as he moves, the spirit is gone, leaving him empty, his hands tangled only through his own silk robes. But for just an instant, as his arms wrap around the space where Sun Ce's soul should be, he can feel something – like there is a body breathing against him, safe within his embrace. Then there is nothing, not even a voice, and he is left trying to remember the feeling of another form against his, the vague flicker of human touch on his tingling skin.

_Come on, come on_

_Put your hands into the fire_

There are rumors that Lord Zhou Yu is losing his mind. When the famed generals of Wu hear those rumors – when they trickle into the quarters of his wife and the company who keeps her, when they reach Sun Quan through the lips of his wives – the people who know Zhou Yu will stop and smile just a little, gazing at each other or at the endless sky as though they too can see the spirit that circles him.

At last Da Qiao will sigh and rise from her soft chair, brushing her robes around her and summoning her children with a flick of her hand, wisdom glowing in her sepia eyes. "It is not his mind he is losing," she says, so softly that the words barely survive her breath. If the bastions of Wu could hear her, they would all agree it is his heart, and that he lost it long ago.

_Come on, come on_


End file.
